Beyond
by Cereza
Summary: "I only came because I thought you of all might recognise blood is thicker than water. Perhaps not, perhaps yours is as sullied as much as our names thanks to you. You call yourself pureblood, you might as well go skip into the sunset with a Mudblood and a halfbreed." When Voldemort has fallen, there are still other risks to the Wizarding world. Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: New story… This will be my only HP story I'll be focusing on… Think I'm going to delete my old rubbish… Going to update as often as possible, but as well as writing this I'm writing a CCS one called recoil, however this is one of those stories that's been snowballing around in my head and needed to escape! Enjoy. Things might get crazy.**

**This chapter may also be really short, but it needs to be here. Usually my chapters are rather long!**

**Disclaimer: I only own ideas- I own nothing to do with Harry Potter.**

_Chapter One_

Everything looked the same. Exactly the same. No matter how far she had walked, no matter how many of those ugly little stones she kicked and watched skitter in the distance, everything just looked the same.

Sand. Everywhere. It blanketed the ground and stretched as far as she could see before her through the fog. For when the sand ended, the fog began. Thick, desolate and white, marrying the sand as the sky met the earth and taunting her as she tried to find a place somewhere that wasn't covered in it. Sand and fog. Not forgetting a few random stones. But all there had been, ever since, was sand and fog.

No nightfall, no twilight. Just blinding white sand and fog all over the place, blanketing everything and refusing to just move out of her way. _If they were damn wizards they would know to move out of my way._ Her thoughts were grim, her mind marred from years of abuse and darkness, and this damned sand and fog.

She had slept, on the floor, on the sand. It reminded on her of times gone by where she had slept where she had dropped, but also of times when she had slept in a decadent four poster bed and relished in the feeling of silk on her skin. However, now, she had no idea what was going to happen.

When she had 'died', she should have known that the half-wit that hit her with such a 'fatal' curse would not do the job properly. They just couldn't- none of that damn group could do such a thing as even speak the Avada. What did they think was going to happen to them? Eternal damnation? Maybe that's what this was.

"Damn filthy blood traitors!" She muttered, kicking another rock at her feet and sitting on the sand, moving her long locks out of her face.

"How is it possible to bugger up a killing curse!"

Her screech fell on deaf ears, for she knew also that no one else could hear her. She wasn't sure if she cared. She didn't ever care about much, apart from one person, apart from _him. _Her master, her friend- better than her useless husband she'd been married to. He never understood her like _he_ did, the idiot. Didn't have such bloodlust, didn't have such guts. He'd been a liability at points evenand she'd wished him away, but being who she was, he didn't seem to bother her much really. Just when he spoke. Like most people.

She had, long ago, decided that she had known the fate of her master. Well, not long ago, but when she'd been dumped in this hell-hole for long enough to sit and consider that she'd probably have been returned by know if he won. Could she be returned? She didn't know, but somewhere in her head she knew he might try.

For, she missed him. She needed the life he provided and the freedom he gave her to unleash what was inside. She had, almost, shed a tear, but no. She was incapable of such things, incapable of these touchy feely human emotions that others had. What a waste of energy. No, instead of sorrow, there was always revenge and anger, and the curses that could come out of ones wand in such a rage. _Hell, there's not even a need for a wand. _So she had walked, and walked, every day through this white laden land to try and discover something about where she was, fuelled by bitter resentment for the fate her master had befallen and for those who had placed her there.

Perhaps the white was a sign. A sign that she should have done better things with her life. _Bollocks to that as well. _

Sighing, she stood, moving forward. She did not know if she had walked in circles, probably crossed the same place a thousand times for all she knew. But she didn't care, because she understood that her mission was to get back. Or if she couldn't, she was sure that someone outside this place might know that she could return, and when she did, she would avenge her master.

She smiled, a crooked grin adoring what could have been such beautiful features on someone perhaps less perturbed.

_Oh yes, _she thought, _I'm coming back somehow._

With a heave of her dark skirts, she stood, feet sinking slightly into the sand as she moved forward.

For Bellatrix Lestrange was going to return to the Wizarding world. And Bellatrix Lestrange did not take kindly to being victim of a messed up killing curse, or her master's demise. She wanted pure revenge.

**AN: No Dramione yet I know, but as I said this chapter needs to be here. R&R!**

**Maria x**


	2. Chapter 2

**This has taken forever as I've been out of the country then back at University. Last year! Oh dear. Enjoy.**

**Chapter Two**

The rain pelting the floor did nothing to dampen his mood. Dark eyes like beetles scanned the manor in front of him, a twisted smile falling over his pallid features as he walked through the wrought iron gates, manicured lawns flanking his sides as he stormed toward the doors of the house. He noticed it looked better than it had a couple of months previously, returned to its former glory without the presence of the Dark Lord residing in it, the ivy that had crept near the eves returned to its green rather than the brown decaying it had been before.

He smirked, knocking on the door, before it edged open slightly. An eyebrow raised, he entered the entrance hall. _Well this was new. _Two months ago it would have been warded so heavily that even he would not have been able to get in without some rather extensive wand work and a house elf ushering him in.

Entering, he looked around and headed through to the drawing room. He could see them, two figures by the fire; one reclined over the sides of the seat as the other sat daintily in her chair, laughing at the something he was saying to her. _How the other half live. _

He frowned, his presence unknown. The room had changed- no longer furniture moved to the sides, no longer a drab room with little light. Now, a roaring ember under the mantle, chairs drawn round it like… It almost looked homely. It would be homely, if he didn't forget where he was. Perhaps that's how they'd gotten away with all they'd done, housing the Dark Lord and attempting to kill that fool, Dumbledore. Pretending they were normal. Deep down he knew they couldn't be.

Perhaps deep down he also felt a pang of jealousy. He and his sister, as well as many others, had been driven into hiding since the Second Wizarding World War. Aurors and vigilantes from far and wide had tried to find them, seek them out, portray them as the epitome of evil and send them for the kiss. He had always been a death eater, however, and he found it laughable that these aurors couldn't find them. He'd even shacked up recently in a flat around Knockturn Alley, a stone's throw away from their precious Diagon Alley and Ministry, and all they could do was look for him while he sat and laughed at the world. Yet, here, in this house, of such evil, were these people living their lives as if they were not the scum of society like he was. So, maybe they hadn't practiced unforgivable on students as young as eleven, but they'd done much worse.

"I see all is well in the life of the betrayed."

The woman jumped, her firewhiskey tumbler rolling to the floor and her book dropping from manicured hands as she whirled around. The man jumped from his stupor, standing next to his wife. Ah, the cool façade had fallen. Fear crossed their faces, almost simultaneously before that reserved manner returned.

"Amycus! You… What are you doing here?" Narcissa's voice came out in a smooth, well-rehearsed utterance, just like those Malfoy's had always been taught.

"Why Narcissa, it's nice to see the new life is treating you well." His hand gestured around the room, the fire flicking at his unused magic as it sizzled out in the grate.

Her eyes widened, looking toward her husband. Ah, Lucius. The avoidance of Azkaban had treat him well, his hair returned to that poker straight effect, that haggard looking beard removed from his face at last. Only his eyes told the stories of the past years that had affected him so.

"Amycus. How interesting to see you. What you are doing here?"

_Ever the diplomat._

"Why Lucius, no need to be so hostile to an old friend. I believe you may want to return to your seat for this."

His old companion looked almost stupefied for a moment at the change of tone in the conversation, sitting with a drop before Narcissa gestured to the chair next to them, obviously the one that would be reserved for their precious lineage. He sat as she poured a glass of firewhiskey, noticeable not with shaking hands as he had believed she would, quickly returning hers to it's normality and pouring herself another with a deft flick of her wand.

"Well, I guess I must say I'm surprised to see you. Alive and well, at least." Her eyebrow was raised as she held the glass out, only a drop of firewhiskey having been decanted in the bottom. _Bitch._

"Ah well Cissy, you see. These aurors aren't as clever as they like to think. Neither the ministry, but I guess your current situation shows how foolhardy they are."

"You shan't speak to my wife like that in her home, Amycus."

Lucius spoke, like a cat jumping on its prey after silence. He had studied the exchange with veiled interest, but it was obvious he was uncomfortable at harbouring another unwanted presence in his home.

"What are you here for, Amycus?"

So curiosity killed the cat.

"I'm here to talk about your sister, Cissy."

She flinched noticeably, that calm exterior dropping for the same time in mere moments. Her eyes widened a fraction before cocking an eyebrow, signifying him to continue with the conversation.

"You see, we've become quite… Friendly the last of us left. You see, the Dark Lord might be gone, but so is that Potter's keen sense of invincibility. We all know the story now, of how they could kill one another, but you see, now that the part of the only man who wanted to kill Potter and was in effect protecting Potter is gone, he's just like the rest of us. Only still a child, and a rather hot head and nasty penchant for _trouble." _

"What does this have to do with my sister?"

"Well you see…" He stood, fingering his glass and pouring more firewhiskey from the crystal decanter into it, not caring for pleasantries with these people no longer. He knew already they would disagree with his plans, he could tell. "It's about Bella."

"Bella's gone, Amycus. We all know it. Some saw it. But there is no mistaking that she is no longer with us."

"But that's perhaps where you're wrong, dear Narcissa."

She stilled- her eyes wide, her mouth pressed into a thin line. He pressed on.

"Bella didn't exactly _die_ did she? The Weasley matriarch may have thrown a curse her way, but it was no Avada was it. We all know that you can kill a person many ways. But with a wand? Avada is the way."

Narcissa was shifting nervously, her mind racing, teeth threatening to bite her lip as they did when she became nervous. Amycus' eyes were black, like shining Egyptian beetles, lighting in the embers of the fire that sat in the grate. Dead.

"You see, Narcissa. There was no body. We all know that. But some curses, they just… Remove one for a while. Whilst your sister may not be a physical presence on earth, she is not dead. Merely halfway, a purgatory of sorts. Your sister can be brought back; we just need something of hers you see."

The female stilled completely, mind reeling. Of course there had been no body. That Weasley woman did not have it in her to kill anyway, not even the likes of the crazed Bellatrix Lestrange. But surely, Amycus could not be correct. For one, why would he want to bring Bellatrix back?

"What are you saying Amycus. More to the point, what do you want?"

He smiled, a horrible, toothy grin of pure evil settling over his pale features as he looked at the couple, turning from the fire to face them.

"I want to bring her back. You see what you fail to remember, is that there were many of us. Many. Despite the Dark Lords unfortunate fall, there are still Mudbloods among us. Those that don't deserve magic. That don't need to have it. Shouldn't. Who better, to exact a revolution, than Bella? She's ruthless, has a brain underneath that matter of hair, and she will do it to no end now that her Lord has fallen. We need Bellatrix Lestrange, and you're going to help."

"Get out!"

The Malfoy Patriach had stood to his feet, his height surprisingly larger than Amycus. He stood, his tumbler almost crushed under the weight of his grip as his wife sat, shell shocked over the information that had just been bestowed upon her.

"Haven't you had enough of this, Carrow. We've been left, we've damn well moved on. We want to live our lives, not the damn lives we've had chosen for us!"

"Moved on have you Malfoy. Why, because you did what you always do and crawled so far up their arseholes that you've managed to get a pardon for yourself? Because what, your wife turned her back on everything she's ever known! Because you were too much of a coward! That snivelling son of yours couldn't even kick a muggle if you asked him! Because you sold us out to get free from Azkaban whilst your friends are in hiding, living like the filth should be!"

His eyes flared as both men reached for their wands, now pointing at one another in such a small space.

"Calm it, Amycus you need to leave."

Forgotten from the room, both men turned to look at the light haired woman sat stock still on the chair, letting her presence be known as she set her tumbler down on the coffee table with a slight slam.

"I'll leave, I only came because I thought you of all might recognise blood is thicker than water. Perhaps not, perhaps yours is as sullied as much as our names thanks to you. You call yourself pureblood, you might as well go skip into the sunset with a Mudblood and a halfbreed. She's your sister, Narcissa."

He swept from the room in a flurry of cloak and robe, slamming the previously opened door in his wake. He was furious, his eyes creased into slits. For a second, he had thought that the Malfoy's were just putting it all on, just like the others who'd been reinstated to society. Instead, they had truly turned into blood traitorous fools. He would show them.

He listened, an intent ear to the door as he heard the soft sobs of the Malfoy woman, before a grin spread across his face. He stood in the entrance hall, before swiftly taking a right and a left, a disillusionment charm flicked upon him by his wand. Entering the room, he was sure the portraits could see him, but he paid heed only to his task.

The Malfoy Family room.

Artefacts lined the walls; many which were passed down from generation to generation or worn occasionally by their families to commemorate them. Tiaras, necklaces, family rings and pendants sat around the room. That was until he spied one in particular.

It was gold, a heavy looking chain with a large, onyx stone upon the end, carved into a solitaire glinting in the slight light coming through the window. It hummed slightly as he inspected it closer, magic still flowing within its crevices. He grinned, reaching for it and turning it over to read the inscription upon the back.

_Happy Birthday Bellatrix,_

_Love Cygnus & Druella_

He had it. And now, they could bring her back. The dark forces would rise again, under a new guise, a new leadership and become once again a feared power in the wizarding world that was already suffering under the strain of repair. To strike soon, before they relinquished what they had lost already, would be the golden moment.

**This is another short one, but it has to be. Soon we will be getting to our two favourite people in the world! R&R!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hi readers… I know you're out there… I have a magical traffic graph… All you need to do is leave a review to go with your reading! :p**

_**Chapter Three**_

Honey brown eyes surveyed the room around her.

People chatting, smiling and laughing as if the past few years hadn't occurred. Children, naïve to the war that had happened and the gory details stared in awe around the cavernous room that could only be Hogwarts Great Hall. She smiled ruefully, stirring her porridge once more as she had been doing for the past five minutes, indulging in her favourite pastime of thinking.

The war was over now; no Voldemort, no more threat to society. Her life had reverted to some kind of normalcy; as regular as it could get after the past seven years had been ruptured by the impending rise of the Dark Lord and his followers.

She had contemplated how it was these people, her peers and her tutors could return to this carefree attitude they were languishing in despite the vast devastation and loss that had occurred seldom three months before. How could it be that they could sit, simpering over the opposite sex, laughing at jokes, cossetting in gossip without realising how lucky they were to even be in Hogwarts castle once more- to be alive and breathing and not recognise the sacrifices that had got them to their seats where they sat?

War had changed her; there was no doubt about it. Her senses had been honed- attuned to jump at every noise, to wield her wand at every doubtful look or sign of danger. Her mind-set had changed too. To be fair, Hermione had never been a carefree young girl- she always, admittedly had her nose in a book or was far too enthralled with her work to be carefree enough like other children, even in first year. War however, had obliterated her carefree side for so long, that she found it hard to readjust to a mind-set that perhaps she had never attained in the first place. A logical thinker she was, and it was illogical to her to not appreciate the people who'd died in regaining this for the world.

_Remus… Tonks… Dumbledore…Fred_

So many names, so many fallen. She had cried countless nights, huddled around a rebuilt burrow table with the Weasley family, pain etched not only upon their faces but deep upon their souls as they thought of the ones they'd lost to the war. All for this, these people to sit in this hall.

Melancholy was what she'd become. Often in a world of her own, noticed by those closest to her. But then again, most of them there too- detached from the world that these children had known more than fighting death eaters and finding horcruxes, nights in the cold Forest of Dean and the Department of Mysteries. They'd lived a lifetime in a few short and sorrowful years, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the attitude of the others, almost that by their demeanour they weren't appreciating all that had been done for this world.

To her side, an elbow jolted her out of her reverie, the smiling face of her dark haired companion brightening her mood slightly. Despite all he'd been through, at least Harry managed to smile through the dark times and memories.

"Come on Hermione, I know that look too well by now" his voice was barely a whisper, his emerald eyes almost pleading with her.

"I just can't fathom it, Harry. I can't see how they see, you know it. How they can return to being so normal, when all that just happened is so fresh, such an open wound…" Her voice trailed off as she felt his arm wrap around her shoulder, squeezing her into his frame.

"But we're here, and it's over. We have much to think about, we do. We've been through so much, but we need to start looking forward and think about what will happen, rather than what could have been."

How could he be so wise and perceptive sometimes, and sometimes a complete idiot? She grinned at him, looking down at her now cold porridge as she contemplated his thoughts. Did she feel guilt if she were to act like the others in the room? Perhaps. But would it not cause her a grievance if she didn't at least try to live, for those that had sacrificed themselves to give people like her and Harry a chance in the wizarding world? It didn't seem right.

She moved away from him slightly, gulping down pumpkin juice as she lifted from the table with him, bag slung over her shoulder balancing the ungodly weight of the books in the bag. No extension charms in Hogwarts, she'd been told. Even for Head Girl with the workload of a work horse, she felt like she was going to either topple or have the muscles of a bodybuilder by the end of the semester.

Potions first, with the Slytherins. A class she had never looked forward to, but was much more intrigued by this year. They had arrived at Hogwarts the night before, and today would be the first time she would see many whose parents she had either fought in the war or had tried to kill her. She knew, by the rumours, which Malfoy and Parkinson were among those who returned, and were already being polarised by the rest of the school for their parents, and in Malfoy's case his own, involvement in the second wizarding war.

Sitting at the back, she observed the Slytherin's who walked in. Zabini had not expressed much involvement in the war, and remained with his almost cocky swagger as he walked into the room. Behind him were Parkinson and Malfoy, who seemed to be almost unaffected by the contemptuous glares many of the Gryffindor's were sending his way. Parkinson seemed to have a dent to her armour, arm laced tightly around that of her walking companion as she furtively glanced around the class before settling into a seat a couple of rows in front.

"Death Eaters…" A whisper sounded from the back of the class, a jeer coming from a table to her left that she recognised as the voice of Dean Thomas. A laugh went up in the class, the Slytherins sat stock still. Malfoy had the audacity to glare around the room, silencing a few who were quite aware what the young man was capable of.

Hermione studied him for a moment; wondering how his life was now. He had got off from Azkaban with his parents in return for information about death eaters, and the defence to the Wizengamont of duress. She supposed if you had to house Voldemort, the vile man he was, in your home, you could count your stars you were actually alive. That never meant his actions were forgivable. The thought of his home ran a shudder up her spine as she turned her attention to Slughorn, bounding in with a magical troupe of textbooks following him.

The lesson passed relatively smoothly, a few comments from Seamus and Dean about the unworthiness of the Slytherins to be at the castle they had almost destroyed marring the quiet of the classroom every now and again. Pansy was furiously scribbling away throughout, for once in her life, seeming to believe that if she kept her head down she would be forgotten about- nothing like the arrogant young girl of a year before who took it upon herself to open her mouth at every opportunity. How things had changed indeed.

The day passed in a flurry of activity, and Hermione found herself rubbing her temples as she eventually collapsed into her desk in the Head Girls office. She was only required to be available for an hour each night, in case students needed her assistance or had a problem that they would rather speak with her about than her head of house. As she had expected, no one was waiting for her when she had unlocked the door to the study and she imagined that no one would come to her this first night.

Her mind drifted to the summer, and the many nights she had spent grieving for lost loved ones. Then, to the happier times that they'd attempted to have- with the newfound lease of life for Harry, they'd tried to be as normal as possible despite the feelings that had erupted at the devastation of war affecting all of them. Then her mind turned to _Ron._

It had not been, as it was foretold to be, a storybook romance. After the heat of the moment in the war, and for a couple of weeks afterwards, Hermione had been sure that she had feelings for Ron and their relationship would progress. Yet, the more Hermione saw of other people's feelings toward one another, such as Ginny and Harry, the more she became sure her feelings for Ron were more platonic than passionate. His lack of manners, for one, though something trivial to fret over had become an annoyance to her immediately. His lack of intelligence, second. Their general make up was different, and they had petered out their affections to her stating that perhaps they were better off as friends and that perhaps…

"Granger."

A voice startled her out of her thought process, a voice that she hadn't heard in almost three months, and a voice that she was sure she could hear when she dealt with her nightmares about one particular day in the war…

"Malfoy. What can I do for you?" Her tone was clipped, courteous to the bastard who had thrown so many to the wolves, who had almost redeemed himself at the manor by leaving them unidentified before chasing them for Ravenclaw's diadem. Then again, his mother was perhaps the reason they had won the war.

Her hand under the desk slipped to the cool wood of her wand, just in case the young man was out for some kind of twisted revenge.

His eyebrow curved up, yet the smirk that was trademark of his family was absent from his pale features. He no longer looked a harrowed young man, despite the abuse his family had received in the media over the months of aftermath. He looked clean, well shaven and cut, his features more filled out than scrawny… He looked more like a man. Yet his eyes, those grey orbs, held much more knowledge than he was keen to disclose, or she was keen to discover.

"I came to speak to you."

Her eyebrow rose this time, looking at him expectantly. Her mind was screaming with fatigue and she knew that whatever he had come to deal out, she already couldn't be bothered with the abuse.

"I understand that. This is my office. People come here to speak to me. If I were you I'd elaborate or leave. Or maybe just leave as I'm sure whatever trivial problem you're having you can buy your way out of too or go off to your death eater friends, even though they're probably not your friends anymore."

She hadn't meant to sound so harsh, she was sure. But in that moment, the words had tumbled out before she had chance to think them through as the years of torment resurfaced and refused to be quashed. She saw a dangerous glint flash through his eyes for a moment, angered by her tone and treatment of him. In her eyes, she saw no feasible reason that she should think any less of herself around him, yet she felt a slight trepidation as the words sunk into the silence between them.

"I actually came here, Granger, to call it quits with you this year. But I can see, you're ever the bitchy little Mudblood that you always were."

Her gasp cut through the room at the words he used. She had expected a flurry of cloak and him to stalk off, yet he stayed, leaning against the doorframe with his hands slung in his pockets as if this conversation were the most amicable in the world, a sneer slithering up his features.

"How dare you! You filthy little ferret! Get out of my office, I'll be reporting this behaviour to McGonagall first thing in the morning!" She stood, hands planted on her desk as she felt the fury course through her veins.

All this time.

All this ideology.

The Dark Lord had fallen, yet the young man in front of her still felt as if he had the right to say her blood was dirty, that she was below him in any sense made her feel furious and almost that she would burst into tears. She felt incensed, that he even dared use such a word anymore meant that even though Voldemort had fell, Malfoy, who had seen first-hand his reign of devastation would not rethink his values.

"Now now Granger, wouldn't want to do that would we, you never know what horrible _death eaters _might do to silly little girls like yourself would we?"

Hadn't he come to reconcile with her? This conversation was certainly no legitimate means to his aim if he had.

"What do you want Malfoy? Your threats have no weight here; in fact, they don't have weight anywhere anymore if I remember correctly."

She was stood tall, asserting herself. She looked ridiculous, she imagined. He had edged further through the doorway, hands now crossed in front of himself as she stood to her small height of 5"4", his six feet at least towering over her and casting a shadow from the lamp behind him.

"I said _Granger, _I came to speak to you. But you're being unreasonable. I thought the Head Girl was meant to be unbiased."

She shook her head at him, mouth open. Was he purposely trying to rile her? His conversation flow was disjointed, his insults scathing but nonetheless quite old.

"How dare you say I'm unreasonable? Get out! GET OUT!"

She screeched as his face recovered from the shock of her waving arms towards the doorway, finally stalking off out of the room and into the corridor with a click of dragonhide boots.

_What was that all about? _Why had Malfoy come to her room under the pretence of reconciling with her only to irritate her to the point where she wanted to scream at him? In the first instance, why on earth had Malfoy said that he wanted to make amends with her for the year? Perhaps she could understand, if he had some obvious about turn in his thinking, but that much was blatant to see he had not. What was Malfoy's game?

She contemplated a moment before thinking of her own diatribe. She had immediately jumped the gun and let the words out before she thought about them; she had been the abuser this time, conceivably he had just lashed out in retaliation. With a slight feeling of shame at her actions, she felt as if she had acted out of prejudice when she let her mouth act before her mind. Did that make her as bad as him? As bad as those whose views she had fought vehemently against over the past few years? Collapsing into the leather chair, she laid her head in her hands and let out a sob.

**AN: Done! Short one this one as have a Dramione incident! REVIEWWW GUYS! This chapter was quite rushed to get things moving along but I would be grateful to hear from you! ANY OF YOU!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you people who've reviewed & followed. It's nice to know you're enjoying the story so far! Keep them coming and I'll keep rolling out the chapters! Onwards and upwards. **

**Nb: I also realised my scene breaks aren't translating through. I've been playing around with it and they disappear everytime I post it on FF. So bear with me on that. **

_Chapter Four_

He pushed himself off from the windowsill, the rain pelting outside only seeming to darken his mood as he thought of the events that had unfolded last night.

_Granger. _

_Mudblood. _

Draco ran a hand through his pale locks; eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he remembered her outburst and in turn his own. Why had he gone to speak with her?

His parents.

Despite the fact that he had been brought up following their blood values, the elder Malfoy's had pressed the importance into him in the weeks knelling in his return to school that he was to attempt some kind of reconciliation with Granger. Not Potter, not Weasley, Granger.

A plan deduced by the Malfoy patriarch, Lucius had taken the largest fall out of the three of them in the aftermath of the war- his pallid features and ragged hair that he sported during the end of Voldemort's reign had become front page news, his name dragged through the mud. The papers had been cruel to all of them, but more so Lucius. Without hiding behind the story of a wayward son brought up only to believe in his father's prejudice views, or the surprise saviour of the Boy Who Lived, Lucius was mercilessly targeted by The Prophet and the other wizarding media. He had fallen from his graces, only slightly recouped as he helped track down remaining followers with the Ministry, and was attempting to rebuild the Malfoy name with great pressure upon his back. Lucius was the scapegoat of the war, with Voldemort and the crazed Bellatrix gone; Lucius had been the one in the proverbial crosshairs of the light.

Therefore, it was left to the young Malfoy to also help rebuild the name. If Draco Malfoy were to be seen sparring with the intelligent piece to the golden trio, it would only further vilify the Malfoy name in the eyes of those who had witnessed the torrid horrors of the second war. It had been impressed upon him to act cordially with her, someone who he had hated so much because of her blood. His job was to act reformed, that his pardon from Azkaban and the new world would suit him well and not, as the papers saw it, be proved a disgraceful error of judgement by the Wizengamont.

_Well, it could have gone worse. _He smiled wryly, pushing himself away from the window once more and entertaining himself with packing his books into his bag. He looked to his rolled up sleeves, the dark mark maiming his flesh, a twisted reminder of the past that he had led; a twisted reminder of the life he lived for so long. _Everything he had ever known. _

Was Draco Malfoy a reformed man? It was a difficult decision. Draco had known, through inner conflict and the witnessing of what had occurred in the war and at the manor, that Voldemort had been wrong in many of the things he had done, more so the way he had done things. He still recalled Charity Burbage, the look of terror upon her face as she was hovering above the table that day. How the snake had maimed and dismembered the proprietors of Gringotts on his drawing room floor. The most telling of all, however, was that Voldemort himself was a Half Blood. His own dirty blood was no different than most of those he sought to eliminate members of the Order and schoolchildren.

Draco was not as stupid to believe the values of terror and torment that had been impressed upon all under the Lords reign. But that did not mean he wasn't a Malfoy, and that he didn't believe that his blood must hold something more supreme than someone who was born from muggle parents. A mudblood. Granger.

So what if she was intelligent? It didn't matter. She should be aware that she was below him as her knowledge of the magical world had been initially gained from books; there would be so much she wouldn't be aware of. Surely. Alas, it still meant that with his lineage on the line, this may be a sacrifice he had to make.

Rolling his sleeve down as he had since the beginning of term, he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he made his way to the Great Hall.

Every time he looked into the room, he recalled how Aunt Bella had danced along the tables, the shattering of glass and the twisted smirk upon her face. The destruction of it after the final battle, sat with his parents, already alienated from a world that had once feared and accepted him as nothing short of a celebrity.

Across at the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat. She was laughing, smiling at the red haired buffoon as she sipped her pumpkin juice with dainty hands and rosy cheeks. He hated her, how she embodied everything he disliked.

"Always in a bad mood these days aren't you mate?" A twinkle in Blaise's eyes showed slight mirth as Draco sat next to him with a huff, piling eggs onto his plate.

"What is there to smile about when everyone wishes you dead?" He barked bitterly, not bothering with the jovial talk at such a time in the morning.

Blaise looked taken aback a second, before silently moving slightly toward Pansy at his other side, who was talking animatedly to Daphne. The girls had been shunted from their classes, he knew. Pansy was finding it particularly difficult to not be able to command those around her.

The Parkinson's had been in the same position as the Malfoy's after the war. Mr Parkinson had fallen under the same scrutiny Lucius had, yet, due to his lesser involvement had also gotten off lightly after the war. Perhaps Shacklebolt was a bit soft. It was obvious to everyone that Mr Parkinson was out for blood throughout the war, not to mention he was as thick as a post. Where Lucius had believed in blood ideals, he had followed the Lord with eyes open and a view that doing so could protect his family. Not like the Parkinson patriarch, who had done so simply to spill blood and wield his status in the world.

Perking up when owls arrived, he noted one from his mother asking how the first day of term had gone. He snarled slightly thinking of it, of the layered questions asking if he'd spoke to anyone in particular. _Granger._ He looked to her once more, and was surprised when grey met honey for the second time in as many days. She was looking at him curiously, before she realised he had raised his head and was glaring back at her. She blushed furiously under his gaze and turned away to the red head once more.

Feeling a tug on his shoulder, he turned; ready to bite the head off the person who dared to touch him. To his slight surprise, behind him stood Pansy, a look of unease upon her features and something clutched in her hands.

"Draco… We need to talk."

"Not now, I'm busy."

"No, we really need to talk Draco."

Her voice held an air of finality that he had missed of her. Despite their flailing attempt at relationships in the past, he had grown up with the young woman in front of him. Her worry throughout the war and desperation over the summer had led to a dramatic weight loss in the witch. No longer small and plump, she was almost frighteningly gaunt and held herself with no poise anymore. Draco had been slightly worried about her, but thought her being back at school forced to eat three meals a day may do her some good- away from her parents' home too.

He stood, a swift look around the hall finding Granger eyeing him curiously once more. Snarling in her direction, he stormed from his breakfast, bag slung over his shoulder and nearly knocking out a rather small first year.

Pansy led him from the hall, her eyes showing obvious signs of worry as he followed her before he calculated they were quite fair away enough from the revellers at breakfast and spun her around by the shoulders.

"Pans, what the hell? I didn't come for a tour of the castle."

She fidgeted before holding out the letter she'd been clutching as if her life depended on it, her eyes threatening to spill tears as she watched him read the words in front of him.

_Pansy dearest,_

_I am writing to you today with a heavy heart, a heavier mind. _

_Your father and I had strict words the night you left to return to school, and needless to say it did not go well. You see, he's been keeping things from me, terrible things which I cannot repeat lest this letter be intercepted. I can't stay with him at the moment, Pansy. We've been through enough._

_If you need to contact me, tell the owl I'll be down at the Riviera house with your Aunt Aubree. I urge you to keep contact with your father to the minimum until this is resolved. I am unable to disclose what is happening, Pansy, but please know that it's worse than I thought. Things are afoot that we could not have forseen, it's not safe for us to be near him at the moment._

_Stay near Draco, Pansy. He will keep you safe. _

_Don't trust the others._

_Yours,_

_Mother_

Draco looked up at her to see tears falling down her face, her sallow eye sockets drenched with the flow that had begun. He felt a slight pang towards his lifelong friend and placed an arm over her shoulders, drawing her into his frame, a frown set upon his face.

Pansy, despite popular belief, had never been one for fighting. She had told him of how she attempted to get people to hand Potter over before the war in an attempt to avoid it. How futile. Yet, despite her brain being marginally less intelligent than his, she had tried in her own roundabout way to prevent the loss of life. She was no warrior, deep down under the façade of a bitter young woman, she was a scared little girl.

"What does she mean Pansy? What do you know?"

She shook her head sadly, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I don't know Draco, but it must have something to do with those left. It must. If father is involved, it can only be bad news. Mother wanted the freedom that the end of the war would give her, but he's been acting strangely all summer. Disappearing randomly; she thought he had another woman to be fair. But I know… I know there's something afoot Draco. It must be bad for mother to have gone down to France. She's left him Draco, she's actually damned left him."

Draco sighed, mind reeling. _The others. _He knew too well who the others were. The other Death Eaters. Despite the round up at the final battle and his father's informing of the Ministry, there were still many left. Many dangerous wizards.

_Alecto Carrow… Amycus Carrow… Greyback… Avery…Rudolphus… Rabastan…_

There were many names. Many more in fact. Many had fallen, but most of those rounded up were the senseless ones who had joined late into the cause and failed to gain the knowledge of the inner circle- the more powerful ones had made themselves scarce. But what could possibly be afoot? There was no Voldemort anymore, and no-one was as true to the cause as his Aunt Bella who had fallen to the wand of the blood traitor Weasley woman. People, who had once resided in his own home as if they lived there too, were now not even acquaintances. In the eyes of the old death eaters, Malfoy's were scum now. Having facilitated rounding them up like cattle, they were left in more disgrace with them than the general public. Had they been in contact with Parkinson Senior? Was something amiss?

The day passed in a blur. The words of Pansy's mother's letter were revolving around Draco's head. Surely, if something was occurring, his parent's may have some knowledge of it? Maybe if it was, someone would have come to them, asked them questions. Maybe threatened them? His fists tightened around his quill until it threatened to snap. He would get to the bottom of it.

Hermione sat at her desk once more, the night colder than the previous, her cloak slung over her shoulders as she scribbled furiously onto the parchment in front of her. She sighed as the thought of another one of the twelve ways that you could banish Snidgets if they were to appear in front of you. At least Hagrid had begun setting homework this year.

A tap at her door interrupted her thought process as she raised her eyes to see the same sight she had the night before. The young Malfoy stood in front of her, hands once again in his black slacks pockets and his shirt unbuttoned at the top, one shirt sleeve rolled up, and the other down.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

She raised an eyebrow at the exchange before staring blankly at him as she waited what he was going to say. Had he come back to abuse her again after yesterday? Once more she fingered the wand in her pocket, eyes studiously taking in every aspect of him.

Had he come to ask why she was looking at him at breakfast? In truth, she had been contemplating his actions the night before. His need to apologise. His strange demeanour in the evening and bitter mood that morning. Then he had hot footed it out of the hall with Parkinson, and her inquisitiveness had gone into overdrive.

"I came to apologise for my behaviour yesterday. I was out of line. I shouldn't have used the word I did."

His tone was clipped and cordial, and Hermione's mouth fell open with shock. Draco Malfoy was apologising. To a _Mudblood. _

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, as Draco smirked at the look of disbelief upon her face. It was nice to see, despite his false apology, that he had the upper hand. She was lost for words.

"Thank you. I think I owe you one as well, I wasn't exactly forthcoming when you walked to my door yesterday."

They remained in silence for a moment afterwards, Hermione's thoughts racing furiously as she attempted to make sense of the situation. Draco inside was battling with himself. He had apologised to the Mudblood. She had apologised to him. That was cordial enough, right? He thought of his mother once more and her pleas with him to make amends with her. For their reputation.

Pushing himself off the frame, he stalked forward and held out his hand to her, offering her a truce without any words necessary. She sat looking at it for a moment before grasping it and shaking it.

Hermione's mind was racing. Malfoy, who hated her and everything she stood for, had offered her a hand and she had taken it. She was shaking his hand and was unsure why. This boy had tormented her, bullied her and smeared her name through the mud she was supposedly as low as so many times. Now, he was in front of her acting almost gentlemanly. She stared at their hands, realising how soft his large hands felt, his perfectly manicured nails…

"You can let go you know…" His voice was a whisper and she dropped his hand like fire before feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. He smirked at her before leaving the room abruptly. For the second time in as many nights, the young Malfoy had left the most intelligent witch of her age dumbstruck.

Stood in the owlery, the sound of the rain pelting around him calmed his mood slightly. Why had Granger held onto him for so long? Her soft, small hands had clutched to him in disbelief as she had studied him in a moment. He felt loathe to admit, she _felt _like a human. Not something that wasn't. Her hands had been warm as she touched him, and the feeling of them in his was something he couldn't fathom. It was possible it was the lack of female contact he had encountered in the past few months. Women had either been entranced by his 'bad boy' aura or terrified that he would bury them under his lawns since the war, yet he had no time for female companionship these days. That would have to change.

Tying the letter to his snowy white owl, he whispered the address to it and watched it soar until it was a small white blot upon the night sky. He had owled his mother, duly asking if anything was afoot without using so many words.

As he stared after the small bird, his thoughts returned to the bushy haired witch in her office and the truce they had made. Would that be enough for his mother? He almost felt bereft at being unable to torment the girl anymore, his only entertainment through the drudgery of school. Of course, he imagined that if he was to do it this year in front of any others he would probably end up at the bottom of the lake. _How times had changed._

The room was dark.

Dank.

Bare.

It _stank._

A smile crept up the features of the elected to stand nearest the cauldron, the avocado potion simmering inside it. His beetle black eyes shimmered with the reflection of the dancing liquid in front of him, an egg timer on a small wooden table to the side counting down the minutes until the final stage would be complete.

"Is it ready, brother?"

He turned to see his sister stood near the back of the room with the others, her voice never wavering despite the dangerous task that they were about to complete.

"Nearly. A minute or so."

"Well you'd damn better hurry up, I see how you said we couldn't do this without her, but we've done all this so far. All this wasting time when there is plenty to be accomplished."

Avery's voice was grainy, as if he had smoked so many cigarettes in his life his voice was threatening to give out. His face was pale and pointy, his nose sticking out underneath the hood of the cloak he wore. No masks were upon their faces this night, just black robes in the dark abandoned warehouse.

"She better appreciate this… Or I'll send her back to wherever she comes from… If this even works."

Greyback. The voice of the werewolf still sent shivers up Amycus' back every time he heard it. Despite being in allegiance with the wolf, Amycus knew enough about the dark arts to be aware that he was a dangerous creature, and the human part of him so far gone that he wouldn't think twice to bite the head off an enemy or claw the insides out someone who rubbed him up the wrong way. He had narrowly escaped death at the war and hidden out in the basements of many of his death eater associates, all of which were understandably on edge at his presence. He was hungry these days, without Voldemort sharing the bodies of muggles between him and Nagini he was scarce of food without robbing muggle mortuaries in the depths of the night, risking capture for himself by muggles and wizards alike. His bloodlust was insatiable.

The egg timer ran out of sand and there was an intake of breath around the circle forming the room. Reaching into his pocket, he turned over the locket in his hands, dropping it with a resounding plop.

_One second…_

_Nothing…_

_Two seconds…_

_Nothing…_

_Three…_

_Four…_

_Five…_

"_Amycus?"_

"_Idiot!"_

"_You've done it wrong!?"_

She lifted her head, clearing her dark locks from her face. Her vision started focusing, in and out.

In and out.

She felt her breathing get faster, her lungs suddenly crushed under the weight of her own chest. Frantically she began clawing, pulling at her corset and futilely at the strings.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

She began to scream, a wail erupting from her throat as she felt her being have the air squeezed out of her.

She'd felt this feeling once before.

When Molly Weasley had fired the curse at her, she'd felt her body constrict and dehydrate like this. She'd felt her blood disintegrate into the thin air, leaving her body. Her body had felt like dust. Maybe she was dying? Maybe that finally some entity had actually let her out of this twilight world?

_Or…_

A grin coursed over her features through the pain. She was used to pleasure from pain, and a terrifying grin spread over her features as she dared hope that perhaps someone had found a way…

_BANG_

Her breathing began to stop, her chest constricted to a point where she might burst, the smile fading from her face…

Was this it?

_Suddenly, an eruption. They were catapulted backwards. The room filled with black smoke, the putrid smell of flesh in the air as the cauldron erupted and the green slime inside began to form, something forming from it out of the shattered remains of pewter…_

She could breathe again, her hands were returning to normal, her mind felt as if it had been pulled apart and put back together, piece by piece until finally she felt her head clearing and the clarity returning. She dared open her eyes.

Covered in soot, a lone figure remained through those that were now clambering back up from the destruction that had been caused by the potion. His piercing blue eyes surveyed the scene.

Destruction, his one true love.

Decay and chaos. This was chaos and he revelled in it, even if it was to his own. To the sides, death eaters were scrambling up, the smell of blood fresh in the air as some rubbed cuts emerging on their skin from the pewter particles dispersed into their flesh. He sniffed the air, looking through the fog to another figure. Stood through the remains of pewter cauldron, she had opened her eyes to look straight toward him. A twisted grin erupted on his wolfish features.

"Welcome back, Bella, my darlin'."

**AN: And that is how that happened! I had to do this early in the story to create the storyline, it's going to probably be quite a long one so hold onto your seats. Once again thank you for the reviews and follows! More reviews guys! **

**Also I know Greyback was attacked in the books and wasn't meant to have survived, but for creative's sake I love Greyback when he's evil. He's so damn fun!**

**Love**

**Maria**


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